


Letters to Me

by amfiguree



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eduardo knows he's won, has a celebratory party his assistant arranged waiting for him at his hotel twenty-two floors down and three blocks away, and he's never felt worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to Me

mark spends the days slouched in his chair, impassive, unmovable, and eduardo can barely stand to look at him, finds it infinitely harder to look away.  
  
they don't speak outside the meeting room. mark hides, big fucking surprise, stays back tinkering on his laptop doing god-knows-what till eduardo's out of excuses to wander the lobby, use the washroom, thank his lawyers ( _again_ ) for the bloodbath, like he's - like this is what he wanted, where he saw himself - _them_ \- ending up.  
  
eduardo knows mark's going to settle. he's a businessman; of course he fucking knows. the elevator is a dark, mahogany wood, mirror panels, lush green carpet when he steps inside, and eduardo knows he's won, has a celebratory party his assistant arranged waiting for him at his hotel twenty-two floors down and three blocks away, and he's never felt worse.  
  
mark's still sitting in the office when eduardo turns, back to the glass walls. they've been in the same room all day, the same goddamned enclosed space, but watching mark like this, shoulders hunched to his ears, face in his hands--it's like taking a physical hit, like stepping out into twenty-degree weather in a thin shirt and khaki pants.  
  
he could go in, eduardo thinks. he could walk over, push the doors open, say, "mark," like he's been meaning to, wanted to, every day for the last year they've been apart. every day for the past month they've been forced together.  
  
they could talk, _really_ talk, raise their fucking voices and solve this the way it should be solved, with fists and blood and _how could you do this why mark why to me why_ \--  
  
mark wouldn't make excuses, never has (and that's the first thing eduardo remembers liking about him) and he doesn't apologize, but maybe they could compromise, maybe they - and he wouldn't have to go around feeling like this all the time, with this open knife wound in his chest and his heart working in overdrive, pounding against his ribs, bleeding him out.  
  
there's a part of him that hopes - that thinks mark could hold him together. he's shit with words, always has been, but there were moments back in the dorm when they'd share a look across the room, when he'd nudge mark with his shoulder, and mark would know exactly what to do. what he needed. and maybe now, maybe he'd finally see that eduardo wants - that he _wants_. he has a room at the hilton for everything they wouldn't be able to do here, and they could go there right now, they could--  
  
it would be a terrible idea; fumbling, shaky hands and frantic, messy kisses, too-pale skin and eyes so dark eduardo wouldn't be able to bring himself to look at them.  
  
it would be a terrible idea, and eduardo would do it anyway, because when has he ever done anything less than terrible when it comes to mark, less than crazy, less than desperate--  
  
it's always been mark, always mark talking, mark needing, mark _taking_. and eduardo--  
  
the elevator shudders gently as the doors close; eduardo's stomach jerks alongside it as he watches mark's silhouette thin between the panels, then shutter out completely.  
  
maybe forgiveness is the one thing eduardo can't give him.


End file.
